


Mine, Yours

by Teland



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Canon Disabled Character, Established Relationship, M/M, Scarification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1998-08-04
Updated: 1998-08-04
Packaged: 2020-12-09 16:54:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20998181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "That's not a knife.""Are you pouting?" Brief laugh, a lick along the shell ofhis ear. "Never mind. I thought you'd... appreciate thismore."





	Mine, Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Technically a sequel to "Naughty Chair," but it's really so vague that there's no need to read that one first. Many thanks to kormantic and Alicia for wrangling this one into a story.

Mulder checked his watch. Quarter past seven and he'd been   
alone in the office for more than an hour. It was hard to   
keep Scully around these days; his partner seemed convinced   
he'd try to kiss her again, given half an opportunity. In   
retrospect, he'd have to say it had been a bad idea. At the   
time, though...

//Yes, and bellbottoms were also a good idea. At the   
time.//

He made a mental note to talk to her about it, a few brief   
moments of awkwardness to re-cement the friendship as-is,   
perhaps buffered with food. Italian, maybe. Something   
starchy, fatty, and creamy, designed to make the most   
painful of conversations sink into obscurity as the blood   
rushed to your stomach. He wished, not for the first time,   
that his mental notes were meaningless. It was time to go   
home.

Walking out of the new office was always jarring. While the   
Gunmen and assorted contacts had been assiduous in   
gathering an entirely new collection of the frightening and   
simply bizarre, the X-Files no longer enjoyed the comfort   
of the basement. He was never truly alone anymore, and   
while from within the office the drone of day-to-day life   
in the FBI was easy to ignore... 

"'Night, Spooky!"

he'd yet to manage to stay late enough that the bullpen was   
clear. Mulder sketched a wave at 

//Murphy. Seventeen years, alcoholic, divorced--

//shut up, shut up, shut up//

the other agent and walked a little faster. He hated moving   
through this part of the building. There were ghosts here,   
with wide, innocent eyes and terrible suits. He didn't want   
to think about that. It had been far too easy to put that   
bright, shiny shadow in a box deep inside, far away from   
the fleshy demon he could never quite find the will to   
exorcise. Alex made it easy, a score of different looks...   
all variations on a theme of leather and denim. Blissfully   
alone on the elevator down to the parking garage, he made a   
concentrated effort to picture his apparent ally and   
occasional

//He always waits for the bruises to fade... consideration   
or aesthetics?//

lover in a suit. A bad, grey suit. He made the daydream as   
detailed as possible, taking them both to Sears, walking   
with exactly three bad, grey suits into the nightmare of   
beige that was the dressing room. Alex promptly took out a 

//he promised he promised next time...//

knife and sliced the first suit to shreds. The grinning   
dream flung one particularly long, grey shred around his   
waist, yanked him close, and began to dry hump him. Mulder   
hit rewind and carefully, thoroughly disarmed his dream   
Alex. Which was difficult, as he seemed to have a lot more   
pockets than the real thing. And he giggled, and whispered,   
and touched and kissed, and had the nerve to eye him   
smirkingly when Mulder uncoiled the 13 foot bullwhip.

//It was *your* bullwhip, Alex.

//May I remind you whose fantasy this is?

//Then you don't have any weapons. At all.//

Dream Alex frowned, seemed dangerously close to pouting,   
but was agreeable about removing his clothes. He could do   
it. He could get him into the suit and then... and then   
what? He paused before his car, tried to remember the point   
of this little exercise. 

//I was trying to make him into the same Alex that betrayed   
me...

//So you *want* to be miserable?//

Mulder sighed quietly and folded himself into the car,   
letting his arm hang oddly, comfortably, from the belt   
mount for a moment before buckling himself in. He tilted   
his head to glance into the rearview and had the briefest   
possible impression of a silver flash before something   
sharp was pressed against his throat. He heard himself gasp   
and swallowed reflexively. A slow line of heat tickled   
toward his collar.

"Christ, Alex--"

When it came, the whisper was at his right ear, the hand 

//What?//

snaking down his chest. "Be happy I know you well enough   
that I didn't bother to show until 6:30, Mulder." A hint   
more pressure; his collar was starting to feel damp. "I   
might've gotten irritable." The hand was roaming just above   
his waist, a parody of massage. Abruptly, the sharp thing   
was twisted and Mulder felt a cool curve against his chin,   
even as more blood leaked down his neck. 

"That's not a knife."

"Are you pouting?" Brief laugh, a lick along the shell of   
his ear. "Never mind. I thought you'd... appreciate this   
more."

The tip was removed; Mulder could feel the pull of flesh   
from the tiny puncture trying to hold it in place, keep it   
from doing any more damage. Alex slid it up and over his   
chin just lightly enough to keep from wounding him.   
Unspoken was the warning to remain still. A tap on his   
lower lip, light push.

"Suck it."

There wasn't much hope of refusing that voice. Mulder   
pulled the hook in slowly, tasted steel and his own blood.   
Alex began tonguing his ear in earnest, and the sensation   
made him lose concentration. He felt metal catch on the   
inside of his cheek briefly and his mouth seemed to be   
flooding with it. Alex didn't play around when it came to   
his... weapons? Accessories? For a giddy moment he wondered   
what other attachments his lover came with.

Mulder could feel the other man's irregular breathing,   
heard leather creaking as Alex draped himself a little   
further over the back of the seat. Lips brushing his cheek,   
clever fingers finally cupping him through the wool of his   
trousers. He knew Alex was watching, let his tongue slide   
out to lap at the curve of the hook. That earned him a   
squeeze, and another wound as he moaned. Several minutes   
passed, time enough for him to grow accustomed to the   
occasional scrape of metal against his teeth, to acquire   
another several small cuts,

//No orange juice for a while...//

before Alex carefully removed the hook from his mouth, the   
hand from his rapidly hardening cock. Mulder touched his   
swollen mouth dreamily, and could only blink when he heard   
the back door opening. A few seconds, too long, and Alex   
was in the passenger seat, resting the hook on Mulder's   
thigh. 

"These pants were expensive, you know."

Eyes were dark, wild with the heady mix of animal lust and   
high good humor that the older man had come to think of as   
purely Alex. At the very least, no one did it better. 

"Then you should probably get us out of here before I slice   
you out of them." 

Alex ran the hook dangerously close to Mulder's groin. For   
the first time, he could see the tight little line of   
concentration as Alex worked to control the pressure. It   
didn't seem to faze the younger man, just another thing   
that had to be done just *so*. 

//Betrayals, maneuvers with global consequences, sexual   
torture...//

Alex hurt him all the time, but it was soothing to know   
he'd only do it when he absolutely meant to. Mulder laughed   
a little at the run of his thoughts, and something 

//hopeful?//

not quite definable crept into Alex's eyes. Mulder caught   
the hook, placed it decisively on his erection, and drove   
off. 

******

Alex barely let Mulder get the key in the lock before   
spinning him around and doing his best to kiss him into   
submission. The younger man opened the door himself,   
forcing them both inside and back and back and back into   
the bedroom. A small part of Mulder's mind was rather   
impressed that the other man could steer so gracefully with   
his eyes closed. A soft growl and the kiss was broken with   
a shove. 

"There's blood on your shirt."

It seemed a non sequitur, and Mulder was at a loss for a   
reply. Suddenly, buttons were flying and tap tap rolling in   
all directions. "Jesus, Alex!"

"Have to get it off quickly, Mulder. Don't want the stains   
to set." The voice was even huskier than usual, making the   
jauntily practical words positively surreal.

"But you ripped all the buttons off--"

"Details." 

Mulder opened his mouth to protest again, but noticed Alex   
was staring fixedly at his chest. Quick glance caught a   
slight twitch in Alex's left shoulder. Mulder removed his   
undershirt. 

"Keep going."

"What about you?"

"Not yet."

Alex was uncharacteristically terse in his responses and   
Mulder froze. Another heartbeat and Alex was kissing him   
again, pulling hard on his tongue as chill leather chafed   
his nipples to stone. A stolen breath, a bite on the chin. 

"Keep going."

When he was naked he pulled the younger man close for   
another kiss and Alex allowed it. The eyes were blackly   
luminous, and not quite focused. 

"Lie down."

Mulder ran a thumb over the bruised petal of his lover's   
mouth, had it sucked in to the knuckle in a move so fast as   
to seem reflexive. The heat, the always surprising force of   
the wet caress.... Mulder heard himself give a rough   
exhalation and watched those wild eyes flutter closed. It   
was always intense between them, but this...

//What do you want, Alex?//

Gentle scrape of teeth and his knees buckled. Alex released   
his thumb and Mulder lay flat on the mildly dusty sheet,   
watching Alex watching him. The bulge of the younger man's   
erection was obvious, but, save for a brief adjustment,   
Alex didn't touch himself.

"Alex--"

He held up his hand, shook his head. Mulder began to stroke   
himself slowly, letting his own teeth scrape along the   
wounds in his mouth in an effort to keep control. He was   
cold and his skin demanded contact. 

//Look at this, want me...//

His own hand was a disappointment. Too mundane, too slow,   
too smooth, too gentle.... Mulder released his cock,   
propped himself on his elbows. And then, finally, Alex was   
lowering himself gingerly, straddling his thighs with rough   
denim. He wanted the jeans to be newer, wanted to be   
shaven, wanted to hurt and Alex was slow, so slow... 

Pale fist gripping the pillow beside his head; Mulder   
watched the muscles strain in the mildly over-developed   
forearm, felt the drag of cold steel along his abdomen.

"Look at me." That whiskey growl echoing his thoughts sent   
a coil of something a lot like terror through his belly; he   
could feel the muscles jumping and twitching even as the   
hook raised uneven trails of gooseflesh, rivulets of blood.   
He looked. Only a moment to enjoy the delicious vacuum of   
lust before his mouth was stolen again. Alex was thorough   
in seeking the earlier wounds, doing his best to reopen   
them with his tongue, with Mulder's permission and   
blessing. 

Alex slid forward a little, raising the sparse hair on the   
older man's thighs and bringing the clothed heat of his   
desire in contact with Mulder's. The agent sobbed into the   
kiss, began to buck hard into his lover, who immediately   
pulled his face away. Alex pumped his hips once and again   
before kneeling up and pressing his weight down just hard   
enough to keep Mulder's movements constrained. 

Mulder let his eyes close. This was far too much of   
something he couldn't quite name. He wanted to speak, but   
there were no words he could think to share beyond yes and   
more. This was no ghost above him, no ludicrously benign   
demon of fantasies and self punishment, this was a man. Who   
was tapping the point of a hook in the tender flesh next to   
his eye.

"I'm going to mark you, Mulder. Tell me where."

If he tried to open his eyes, if he moved suddenly, he'd   
wind up with a facial scar. Mulder concentrated on slowing   
his breathing, tried to stop the constant flex and release   
of his hips. He was grateful to Alex for pinning him,   
immediately recognizing the absurdity but unable to make it   
relevant. 

"Not the face...."

Implicit consent, of course, and he followed the steel,   
leaned into the curved caress as it shivered down his   
cheek. Alex let it hover over his throat for a moment.   
Mulder was aware, again, of the tack of dried blood; opened   
his eyes to find the other man staring at him in blank   
want. 

"Where?"

"Why are you doing this?" It seemed wrong to ask, a gaffe   
to interrupt the spell of desire and violence, but the   
words came so easily.... Alex was shifting his ribcage in   
tiny motions, moving like a cobra and staring, staring.   
"Slow down... not yet..." He couldn't believe it was his   
own voice, was stunned that it made any difference. 

There should've been some anger showing, but there wasn't.   
Apparently, the younger man found it only natural that   
Mulder would ask and pause and demand.... Tiny little   
motions and they were still joined by heat and a palm, flat   
on his chest. The pretty face was smooth, calm in a need   
become familiar over the course of the evening.

"I need to. This... this, between us..." There was the   
frown, that line giving Alex a blend of seriousness and   
earnest youth no amount of cracked leather and bloody steel   
could ever erase. "There's too much here for the games,   
Mulder."

"And this isn't just another game? You surprise me, you   
hurt me, you fuck--"

"I don't want to hurt you." Mulder ducked his chin to brush   
against the hook still resting just below. Alex shook his   
head and slid the steel down the center of Mulder's chest,   
careful of the resultant arch. "This isn't about hurt."

"Tell me what it's about, then." 

A rueful smile. "Why do you think I keep coming back?"

"The information, the sex..."

"I may not be the same perfect little package I used to be,   
but sex isn't a real problem, Mulder. And, yeah, we're   
playing our little war games--"

"You weren't so nonchalant about it before." 

The younger man nodded in response, began to casually,   
finally remove his clothes. Mulder was sorry to see the   
jacket go, as always. The ever-present white t-shirt next,   
pulled from left to right in one smooth motion, exposing   
old bruises, older scars. There was, apparently, a point   
where it seemed perfectly natural to reach out and touch   
hot, silky skin, to try to work through the problems of   
your relationship while chafing your cock raw against black   
denim. "You're right, I wasn't.... But some things are more   
important than others."

The older man ran his hands along the firm belly but not   
lower, knowing that touch wasn't wanted, yet. His question   
had brought a calm to this, a corruption of languor, and he   
wasn't sure whether to be happy about that. "What things,   
Alex?"

Alex brought his hand to Mulder's; they linked fingers   
absently and the older man continued to rub and press and   
pet. "Wouldn't it be too easy for us to just spell it out?" 

"I don't know, it might be refreshing..." There was a smile   
in his voice, but Mulder knew his own inability to look   
above the knot of their companionably twisting hands was   
the real answer. A shuddering breath from above suggested   
Alex understood that, as well. 

//I have a choice here. I ask him into my soul, or I simply   
don't resist when he walks in anyway.//

"You're already here, you know, Alex..."

A pause as long fingers gripped his own in tight question,   
before disentangling themselves, traveling up to flatten on   
his chest again. Mulder knew Alex could feel exactly how   
fast his heart was beating.

"Here?"

Then, and only then, did Mulder meet his eyes again. Such a   
stupid waste to talk in riddles, begging the fates to toy   
with you. But sometimes you can get away with a nod.

It happened fast, one quick, effortless slash. Too sudden   
to feel pain, at first, or for it to even bleed   
immediately. Mulder could see the flesh open shallowly, a   
bloom of skin. He was aware that he wasn't breathing. He   
was aware of the prosthetic dropping off the side of the   
bed. Ruthlessly efficient movements, a sigh of pained   
relief and Alex had freed himself. The touch of that velvet   
heat almost, almost made him breathe but it seemed so much   
more important to watch the night flower of his chest, dew   
black in streetlights. 

The pain came in the wake of Alex's tongue, a razor flare   
of brittle agony ratcheting higher and higher with every   
heartbeat. He was being turned on his side, a brief moment   
of bumping chins and noses and Alex was opening his mouth   
with his own. It was impossible to not feel the rhythms,   
the pulse and pain of wounds and prolonged arousal and   
there was a hand on his cock, pumping, squeezing and slick   
hardness against his own, together needful another squeeze   
to thrust into, another kiss to hold a sob.... Mulder   
caught his breath against Alex's cheek, focused on the idea   
of cleaning the sheets until he had himself under control. 

He flung an arm into space, smacking the night table hard   
enough to bruise and sliding his body perilously along the   
sweat-sticky heat of the younger man's. There was a tongue   
lapping incessantly at the hollow of his collarbone, subtle   
path to madness in cat rasp and obsession. Mulder fumbled   
for what felt like an eternity; Alex didn't stop tonguing   
him until the older man had pushed him on his back. Too   
many awkward moments of positioning, of wondering at the   
depth of hatred he'd developed for a stupid scrap of latex,   
and it seemed like the air itself was trying to get him   
off.

There were strong calves on his shoulders. Alex's eyes were   
half lidded, dazed looking. His lips were moving and Mulder   
was abruptly aware that the younger man had been speaking   
for quite some time, rough nonsense and casual obscenities,   
hand trailing along the underside of his own cock   
shamelessly.... Brief shining glimpse of *something*... a   
vague idea that there was no dare, no tease in this just...

"Please..."

and he was lost in the feel of his finger slipping easily   
inside, moans and encouragements, the jack-knife of a   
clever twist. There was no part of him able to detach   
itself from *this*, the whir and bustle of his mind wholly   
focused on the slow rock to join them, the taste of an   
ankle, the scent of iron and want. 

He was bleeding again, the sweat was running in the wounds   
and setting his surface abuzz... he watched pinkish   
droplets fall on Alex's chest, was shocked to see them   
remain where they fell, unevaporated. It added anger to his   
thrusts, driving him higher and harder...

//Where is my mark on you?//

... unbearable that no time with this man could end without   
pleasure, no act shame him until long after its completion.   
There was something like a lesson in this, and that was the   
last of his thoughts before he was yanked into mindless rut   
by the force of the younger man's scream.

******

"A cigar?"

"Don't you want the mark to set, Alex?"

Eyes that had barely regained their simple olive began to   
flare and blacken again. "I should've known you'd know   
about that, Mulder."

A briefly bitter laugh in the darkness. "The bizarre, the   
obscure, the insane--" He was cut off by a thumb running   
gently over his lips. 

"Mmm... and that's just your sex life. Hold on, let me get   
something to hold the ash, let it cool a bit."

Silence and black. Once Alex moved out of range of the   
streetlight he was impossible to trace, a spreading   
presence, a ghost again. 

He returned with warm, damp towels, a dry one, and a small   
cup. The men smoked in silence for a time, allowing   
shoulders and knees to nudge in strange, prickly intimacy,   
sharing the cigar until it became nauseating. 

"Are you sure you don't want a painkiller, Mulder?"

"The only thing I want is for you to brush your teeth   
*thoroughly* before you kiss me."

"I'm not the one with the cheap stogies--"

"We're procrastinating."

Alex looked away first, grabbing his jacket from the   
cluttered floor and handing it to the other man before   
switching on the lamp. A few moments to wince at each   
other. 

"Bite on this when it starts to hurt..." Flash of wicked   
smile. "Let that fetish work for you, babe."

Mulder snorted, but grabbed the sleeve. Held it under his   
nose and breathed deep when Alex began to smooth the ash   
in, painstakingly, thoroughly. He was biting down hard soon   
enough, but had the presence of mind to laugh a little when   
the younger man threatened to hurt him if he tore a hole in   
it. 

Finally, Alex was done and Mulder looked down to see a   
rough, grey line of ash with the beginnings of a subtle   
curve, a hip bone, a moment of life. 

"I think I'm ready for that painkiller now."

They were asleep by the first crow screech.

******  
End.  
******

**Author's Note:**

> Hal asked me to write an Alex-with-a-hook story...


End file.
